Almost there?

Believe it or not friends and family, this is technically the last week of college classes that I will have. Ever! (Hopefully!) Three years of undergrad + three years of pharmacy school = one chick who is ready to be working, making money, and moving on. Ben not-so-graciously reminded me the other day, "It's like you're in... 18th grade."

As much as I love to learn I can honestly say that I am so done processing this much information all the time. My brain is tired, numb, and quite frankly prone to irrational mood swings after being prodded so relentlessly. Four years may sound like a lot of time (and it is!), but the amount of information pharmacy school crams into those three years of didactics and one year of clinical rotations makes it a pretty rough turn around.

It is almost surreal to think that this might be the end of classes. I can still remember being in undergrad and using the strange, attic-like computer lab on the top floor of Arlington Hall to apply for pharmacy schools. I remember the excitement when my mom drove all the way to my dorm to bring me the letter from University of Houston. I remember screaming and running and jumping when I ripped it open and read the acceptance letter. I remember the flowers Ben bought me, because coincidentally it was also Valentine's Day.

I can't say it feels like yesterday because it is about freakin' time, but at the same time I can definitely see how far I've come since then. I am also pleased to say that I don't feel as though I've wasted my time.

I still have a year left before I graduate, though. A year of awesome experiential training! Heck yes! Being in actual pharmacies, doing actual work, applying what we have (supposedly) learned. It's time. I miss working, I miss talking to different people every day. Of course you never think you'll miss working, but I really do. The preceptors can tear me down every single day it will be better than me sitting in class wanting to bang my head on the table until I'm unconscious.

My schedule is still tentative, but it will hopefully be mostly in Dallas where I can hopefully network. I guess the next thing would be to finally figure out what I want to do with my PharmD... I wish I knew. But that is why we get a year to experience different practice sites.

I am so excited. This is what I've been working so hard for!

P.S. I can't wait to move to Dallas, because this chair I've been sitting on is damned uncomfortable.

I'm a rule-follower

Yes. I am a rule-follower. I wear my name tag while I'm in the Texas Medical Center UH College of Pharmacy building. When I'm on one of those moving sidewalks I stand on the right, or walk on the left. I pay my bills on time.

Okay, I do speed when I drive I will admit but I promise you it's not as bad as when I first started driving. I did pay all my speeding tickets on time and completed my defensive driving for all of them.

It's not that I don't question the rules, and if I objected to a rule I would speak up. It's not as if I don't roll my eyes when someone tells me it has to be in pen (blue or black or red ink?), or it has to be in pencil with no strike-outs/erasures/hesitation. It's not as if I don't chafe at the yoke of 'the man' occasionally. Am I pissed off that I've heard the same "name tag/terrorists" lecture countless times? You bet.

But honestly people, what is so hard about doing the right thing the first time? What is so hard about doing the simple things? What is so hard about asking someone if you don't know how to do something?

Of course I have had a few things on my mind to use as examples!

When Ben came down to see me a couple weeks ago he was on the phone with me as he hurried off the plane and toward the pick-up area of Hobby airport. He was in a mad dash to jump into my arms (okay, hyperbole perhaps) and as I was circling the airport he made the loudly whispered admonishment, "I would be there faster if *some* people would stand on the right and walk on the left."

I assume he meant those moving sidewalks. I know I've been inconvenienced more than a few times by people who ignore the large signs in clear block letters that suggest the proper way of using the community moving sidewalk. It's not their moving sidewalk after all. I have fantasized more than once about pretending that I was late for my flight and knocking their asses flat on the conveyor belt as I rush past. Of course, those fantasies also involve me wearing a scarf that is flowing behind me, large sunglasses, and an entourage carrying my matching luggage so that the person who is in blatant violation of good manners is not only knocked flat, but stepped over. Several times. And then I hope their ugly Crocs get stuck and melt. I digress.

Our apartment fitness center has a keyed entry since they updated the equipment and installed televisions. I went today to reacquaint myself with physical fitness after several months, and as I was having the normal mental struggle whether to continue making a fool of myself I couldn't help but notice someone tapping on the door. He walked back and forth from door to door in front of the windows my treadmill faced. I glared at him until I could ignore him no longer.In a huff I interrupted my workout to let him in. I can't help it if I slammed the bar on the door to let him and another equally annoying woman in, then whirled around and hopped back on my treadmill without so much as a glance. Hey, it's better than me holding up my key and continuing to ignore their irritating, plaintive taps and glances.

That's what I'm going to do next time.

Get a key people! I got it! I assumed responsibility for the outrageous $200 lost-key charge. I am not inconveniencing others with my laziness. What irritates me the most is the thought that I am breaking the rules letting these people in. I can't help but notice that our formerly brand new set of hand weights has slowly dwindled in available weights and it's all probably because saps like me let in some assholes who wait to take whatever isn't screwed into the floor.

Don't even get me started about the people who pull up to the gate of my apartment complex and then just sit there rather than pulling off to the side. I pull up and wait behind them, already knowing they have no legitimate means of entry. Then they have the nerve to *honk* at me as if I can do anything with their vehicle blocking the place where I use my card. I find that if they annoy me enough, it takes me a mighty long time to locate where I put that keycard (even though it's in the same place it always is). And I love to wait until the gate is ALL the way open before I drive through, and I am also more apt to follow the 5-10 mph speed limit as I enter.

I think Pomikiolani is Hawaiian for "passive-aggressive".

I also don't tend to cross the sidewalk unless I have a 'walk' symbol, but you better kill or seriously injure me if you hit me when that jaunty white guy appears. My husband is an insurance adjuster and I know just how much money I can squeeze out of you in the state of Texas (and Louisiana and Arkansas, too) but that will be the least of your worries in the mean time. I know it may have been a while since, if ever, you read your handbook regarding the rules of the road, but there are three little words that tend to pop up quite frequently: YIELD TO PEDESTRIANS. I know I only have three more weeks, but wouldn't it be ironic if that was when someone finally ran into me as I crossed the street rather than these near misses?

I guess it just really pisses me off because I follow most of the rules and do my best not to inconvenience the people around me. Heck, sometimes I go out of my way to help a stranger. It's just in my nature. So when people can't even do the little things it just really gets on my nerves.

And that's my rant for today. La. ;)

Memory Lane

Last Sunday Ben moved back to Dallas in order to start his next rotation with his job at Liberty Mutual. With him he took most of the things in our apartment except for the most essential things I needed to finish out the semester. While we were packing we both stood by my old desktop.

"What do you want to do with Woo?"

Woo is what we call the old desktop because when it is straining to run some programs the fan howls and squeals. Woooooooo. To be fair, I've had that desktop for about seven years and it has only 512MB of RAM. You can imagine how difficult it was to run anything lately. Upgrading to Windows Vista or 7? Forget it. I couldn't even install the latest Windows Office on the darn thing.

That's why last semester I took some of my financial aid moneys and purchased a laptop. I never really turned old Woo back on again after I got used to my laptop and installed the printer drivers correctly.

"I don't know... I guess we can get rid of it. I never really use it now that I have the laptop. I guess there's nothing really important on there."

If something catastrophic had happened and the hard drive got wiped it wouldn't be the end of the world, in other words. On the other hand, there was 7 years worth of CDs I had ripped onto it. Not a whole lot, but some of those CDs have been MIA for a few years. Not only that but there were quite a few pictures, some of them stretching back to right around when Ben and I started dating.

"Well..." I offered up the idea of getting an external hard-drive to pull the files off old Woo. He said that sounded good.

I guess I thought there would be tons of files on there since I had had it for seven years, but the sad truth is there really wasn't very much. About 1,000 songs and about a hundred photos. I went through some of the projects I had worked on in the first three years of pharmacy school, but nothing seemed very relevant to take with me on rotations.

Evidence that I am not exactly tech-savvy I suppose. I use my computer for the most basic of tasks that computers have been able to do for probably 10-20 years: word processing, e-mail, internet surfing and stuff for school and that's about it. Still, it was a little disappointing that the last seven years of my life barely took up 6 GBs on the external hard-drive.

I guess I have to be honest with myself that maybe I just wanted to see what an external hard-drive was and how it worked.

At any rate, I got to flip through some of the photos that I hadn't seen in a while. Perhaps it's because Ben is gone in Dallas that I feel a little nostalgic for our story.

Prologue

I was born in Irving, TX, a city smack-dab in the middle of Dallas and Ft. Worth. I'm a life-long Texan even though both of my parents are from other states. My dad from California and my mom from Hawaii and then later, California. I am an only child who has lived most of my life in Coppell, a suburb northwest of Dallas.

Ben was born in Normal, Illinois and both of his parents are also from Illinois. He is Midwestern through and through. He has a brother and a sister and has lived in Illinois and Nevada before moving to Coppell sometime during the end of elementary school or beginning of middle school. You couldn't find someone more of an opposite to me.

Somehow, through some twist of fate (more like fate slamming us into each other repeatedly), we ended up together.

Chapter One: Coppell, TX

For it's first act, fate tried to bring us together when Ben's family moved to Coppell for his father's work. We went to the same middle school, Coppell Middle School West, for the first couple years but we didn't know each other then. It is so strange to think that we were passing each other in the halls as far back as sixth grade. We may have even had a couple classes together.

What really is interesting to me is that I probably would have known him sooner if I had gotten the courage to ask my parents if I could join band. At the time I thought you had to purchase the instrument you played and we didn't have much money back then. That's the price of living in an upper-middle class town for the schools even though you weren't upper-middle class. I didn't know you could rent instruments those first couple of years. Ben started his trombone playing career in middle school, I started my theater career. Theater was close to free, after all.

After they opened the third middle school in Coppell, CMS North, that's where Ben went for eight grade while I stayed at West.

Fate tried to bring us together yet again in two ways. There was only one high school in Coppell, TX and there also weren't very many places a teenager could employ themselves. When my parents agreed to get a car for me, part of the agreement was that I get a job and help pay for it.

I got a job at the local Tom Thumb (Randall's for you Houstonians) as a Front End cashier/bagger on the weekends. I didn't complain much so they put me on the express lane all the time, which for some reason people didn't like to work. On the express lane, since there aren't many items, you don't usually get a bagger.

I guess that's why it took me so long to become acquainted with Ben, who was also working at Tom Thumb as a bagger. He could have been a cashier, but because that meant you didn't get to run amok and go out to the parking lot to screw around, he didn't usually volunteer to work the registers.

When he did come up to my lane, he usually didn't say a word. He bagged, and then left-- usually in the direction of the parking lot.

It wasn't until junior year that I officially met Benjamin Phillips. It happened nearly simultaneously at Tom Thumb and in high school.

I was acquainted with some mutual friends of ours, Derek and Andy, who were in band with Ben. We were in Gifted and Talented English together. Ben had been in regular english, but he heard how much fun we had in GT English so he joined us one semester.

Right from the beginning I thought he was hilarious. When we studied Beowulf in English (actually, we studied it twice thanks to a change of curriculum half-way through our tenure) we had to write our own epic poems and read them aloud to the class. Ben's was titled BeoBush.

BeoBush was, of course, a parody of George W. Bush. I will never forget how BeoBush searched for the Dragons of Mass Destruction (DMDs) but could not find them. Then there was the Shakespeare 'They Got What They Deserved' project. Derek, Andy, Ben, me, and a couple other people were in a group and we chose to do a video project. I remember Ben messing up one of his lines and calling Macbeth 'Hamlet' by mistake. His comedic timing was perfect if not unintentional. We left the botched line in the final cut.

We also had a chase scene in our project. To add to the slapstick humor, we threw a gigantic stuffed dog in the back of Ben's "DangerRanger" ('96 Ford Ranger). I filmed from the bed of his truck as he and Andy's stationwagon hauled ass down the Coppell streets, trying to get good shots AND dialogue while not getting thrown out of his truck.

In the meantime, I was working a non-express lane one day and Ben noticed I had a Dallas Stars sticker on my name tag. Turns out, we were both huge hockey fans. That was probably the beginning of our true bonding.

From the beginning we referred to each other as our "hockey-buddy". It was cool working at the Coppell grocery store back then, because a lot of the Stars actually lived in Coppell and we got to see them when they came in to get groceries. One day my mom was visiting during my lunch break when our then stellar super-star goalie Marty Turco walked in the produce section near the deli I was taking my break in.

I quickly hustled toward where Ben was bagging groceries and told him. He casually snuck over to the produce section and confirmed my story.

"Wouldn't it be crazy if he came through your line?" Ben said. I told him I'd probably freak out.

My lunch break was nearly over, and sure enough, when I got back on my lane who else but Marty Turco starts to unload his groceries on my belt. I was nearly speechless. Of course I had to do the required, "Hello! How are you? Did you find everything you needed today?" Yada yada.

Of course he was just a nice, normal person. He even bagged his own groceries. But as soon as he was pushing his cart away Ben came rushing up to me. We both had a 'moment' of fan hysteria before we had to get back to work.

Time went on and we maintained a good rapport at work, talking about hockey and school. Then on my birthday I was working and Ben came up to me, again while I was on break and handed me a game puck. He thought I'd like it since I was such a big hockey fan. I was so shocked that he had thought of me that all I could say to him was, "I hate when people surprise me. I hate when people give me gifts."

He still remembers how flustered I was and I still have that hockey puck.

We went to a Texas Tornado game (a junior league hockey team that plays in Frisco) together a couple times, but there wasn't much more to it than that. We were just hockey buddies.

We both graduated from Coppell Senior High School in 2004 and went our separate ways. Ben got a scholarship to play trombone for the Razorback band at University of Arkansas, and I was already trying to get into pharmacy school. In order to save my parents some money, I wanted to stay close to home and was going to attend the University of Texas at Arlington (UTA).

We had ignored fate up until then. Middle school, high school, the same grocery store, hockey. It's funny how what you're looking for is always right in your face.

Chapter 2: Arlington

As it turns out, Ben and I had yet another mutual friend from high school, Eileen. My second year I decided that commuting between Coppell and Arlington was not for me, so I somehow convinced my frugal dad to let me get a dorm room. It also just so happened that one of the roommates in Eileen's suite was moving out.

That summer, an instant message from Ben popped up on Woo's computer screen. He told me he was thinking about attending UTA that fall semester since he hadn't done so well as an engineering major at Arkansas. I told him I liked it, especially now that I was going to be living on-campus.

He was going to be living on campus too, he said. In a dorm right down the street from mine.

"I'll help you get acquainted with the school. We can hang out and watch Stars games together!" I told him.

Fate brought Ben back from Arkansas to the same college I was attending, to the same street I was now living on, and back into my life. At first, it was my roommate who was always hanging out with him. She was an undeclared art major, and she needed subjects for her photography.

Ben made a great subject. He was very dynamic and expressive. If you knew him well, you know that you rarely get a straight face out of him.

We hung out quite a bit. We looked forward to those days when the Stars were playing so we could all gather round my tiny 25" TV in the living area of the suite and watch the game. We got shushed by the RA on more than one occasion.

At the time I was 'seeing' a guy I had met that played soccer and unfortunately Ben was my confidant. That probably made for some really awkward moments for him. I should have known, though, because when I went to that guy's soccer practice/matches and brought Ben, I would have more fun playing badminton on the sidelines with him than watching the game. At least that guy was honest with me fairly quickly and told me that he didn't want a serious relationship. Whatever it was ended pretty quickly after that.

One day, a few weeks later, my friend Eileen was showing me some pictures she had taken of Ben with her digital camera. They had driven out to a lake and they were taken in black and white. Ben was in a button down shirt, his hands in his pockets looking off in the distance, and I swear to God he looked like a Ralph Lauren model.


I think right then and there I finally saw how good looking he was. It was right there the whole time, staring me in the face, but it wasn't until I saw him through the lens of the camera that it dawned on me.

I loved hanging out with him, he loved hockey, we had easy conversation.

"Oh my God, Eileen. I think I like him. I think I really really like him."

Of course I didn't tell him right away. We still hung out and I kept it to myself. I was terrified that he wouldn't like me back, that it would ruin the awesome friendship we had. I didn't want to sacrifice my hockey buddy.

I became increasingly obsessed with his hands. They are manly hands. Sexy hands. Until then I hadn't known hands could be sexy. But Ben's were. It came to a head one night where I would have probably done anything to hold his hand. Instead of telling him I wanted to hold his hand because I liked him, I happened to be painting my nails. I snatched his hand up in mine and before he could protest, I started painting his nails.

He actually let me. I think if he had argued and pulled away at that one moment we never would have gotten together. It was because he didn't immediately recoil from my touch that I think I got the courage up to ask him out.

And because he told me a day or so later he was being pursued by another girl. A girl named Rachel.

"I don't like the name Rachel," I said, angrily and stupidly.

"Whoa, okay," he laughed.

Later that afternoon we were talking on AIM.

"I don't know how to tell her that I'm not interested without hurting her feelings," he confided in me.

I felt my heart pounding. I knew what I wanted to type, but I was too scared. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath and typed.

"You can tell her you're already going out with me."

I immediately sprung out of the chair, strode across the dorm suite and started pacing. There, I'd done it.

Eventually I got the courage up to go back to the computer.

I knew he knew what I meant. Just to be careful he clarified.

"I'm coming over so we can talk," he typed.

He walked over to Arlington Hall and we talked. We were both nervous and happy. He admitted he had liked me for a long time but was too shy and nervous to say anything. He too hadn't wanted to ruin the friendship we had had.

I still remember it as clear as ever. He was wearing some scrubs because he had been getting ready to go to bed when we were talking on AIM. He leaned on the newspaper dispenser outside the gate that lead to the courtyard of Arlington Hall.

"You really want to try this?" He asked.

"Yeah, I think so." I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. Our first kiss.

There we are, on his graduation day from UTA giving each other one last kiss at the same place we had our first.

I was never very romantic before Ben. I was never very sentimental. But the pictures I have of us are so very special. I have pictures of our dates to the Fort Worth Symphony's Concerts in the Garden, of course Stars games, our trips to St. Louis, Chicago, Toronto, Hawaii... They mean a lot to me when before I never had a single picture album.

Fate had to practically lock us together in a room before we finally saw what was right in front of us, but I am so glad that I finally did. I always tell him I don't know where I'd be if I hadn't gotten the courage up to type that one silly sentence into AIM.

On second thought, I probably will need that external hard drive. I plan on filling it up with our life together because I know it will be incredible. The best has yet to come.





I miss him, but I know we'll be together soon-- making new memories.

Bleeding heart

When I was 15 years old I told my dad I wanted to be a member of the ACLU (American Civil Liberties Union). I wanted to stand up for and defend peoples' rights (I still do).

"You can't be a member of the ACLU," he stated, a little matter-of-fact.

"Why not?" I demanded, shocked and offended that my dad would tell me that I couldn't do something. Aren't parents supposed to tell you you can do anything?

He looked over at me and said, "I thought you said you wanted to be a doctor or a pharmacist. You have to be a lawyer to be a member of the ACLU."

"You have to be a lawyer? Oh."

And that was that. I think the reason we have so many dreams when we are children is because we have a tendency to keep our dreams to ourselves. The second we speak our dreams there are always people within earshot that are all too eager to give you a dose of reality. So I had to be a lawyer to be a member of the ACLU. Heck, it's not too late. I can still get my J.D. one day, right?

In my opinion I would probably be a good lawyer. I love research, love reading, and I love problem solving. As far as my ACLU aspirations go, it is currently limited to reading news stories and either being 1) outraged, or 2) ecstatic for the people affected.

I am so passionate about what I read that my kneejerk reaction is to blow up Facebook and spam all the poor people who are my friends with the newest link and my feelings about it. However, if I did that for every news story I had the urge to I think more people would hide me than probably already have.

So! I will do it here in my blog! One link that leads to many with the hope that my insatiable urge to spew my opinions and thoughts might be abated.

1) Arlington woman gets 16 years for DWI manslaughter
http://www.wfaa.com/news/crime/Prison-term--89175387.html

One might think that a DWI is a DWI, but for some reason I find myself reading every single DWI story that I come across.

I have some thoughts about maybe why I am so particularly interested in DWIs, but what I do know is that I am really concerned. It seems that we as a society do not take the risk of drinking and driving seriously. We speak of it flippantly and admit to it boastfully. As someone who has been affected by alcohol abuse in my family, I am one of those crazy people who feel that alcohol is one of the most dangerous drugs out there.

Don't get me wrong, I do drink. I admit that I even drink too much sometimes. I have even driven while under the influence: once. And I will never forget how upset I was with myself afterward. When I was in undergrad at Univ. of Texas at Arlington, my roommate and I had been at a party with some of the people in her art classes. The party was a great one at first, we were having a great time mingling with some of those crazy, elitist artsy types.

As the night and alcohol wore on, more and more people started showing up. The party spilled out of the small apartment and it began to get incredibly loud as several conversations were competing. At one point it was too hot in the apartment, so I walked out. That was when I noticed some neighbors starting to come out of their apartments, some of them holding cordless phones.

I knew right away this party was about to get shutdown by the police, which would not have been good for my roommate and I for undisclosed reasons. At that point I made one of the worst decisions I've made in my life: I grabbed my friend and drove us back to our dorm. I wasn't wasted by any means, but I definitely wasn't good to drive.

I could have killed someone. I could have killed us. I could have crippled someone else, or us. That's just the reality of it. It was reckless and it was, and is, wrong.

Because of the strain our prison system is under, DWIs are often not penalized as strictly as they could be. I really enjoyed this story for two reasons: 1) she pleaded guilty, and 2) despite that fact, she was dealt a sentence close to the maximum of 20 years. But the truth is, that she could be anyone who chooses to drink and drive. It only takes a split second to not notice a red light and run it. It only takes a split second to kill someone and cripple another.

2)http://www.cnn.com/2010/POLITICS/03/25/congress.threats/index.html?hpt=T1
Health care reform anger takes a nasty, violent turn

So, assuming that this was indeed an intentional act: does the shooter realize that he/she shot at a congressman that didn't even vote for the bill? That opposed it and was trying to stop it?

"And we have to think of ourselves as, 'what kind of people are we?' " Leach said. "Are we one people working together with rival thoughts, or are we enemies within? And I think there's something that's been let loose in American politics that has to be thought about."

This quote rings very true to me. I am keenly aware that the majority of people do not know the issues. They only know what the political pundits on the television or radio are telling them to think.

I am afraid that the state of politics in this country is getting to the point where there will be no progress because of politics. Any step forward is a victory for "the other side" and is therefore undesirable.

Why does it always seem that the most ignorant have the loudest cries?

Anyway. Ben's home now.

Skating a thin line

Sunday evening I went to bed in a foul mood. I attributed it to the fact that I had school the next day. That, and the Winter Olympics had just ended and the epic ice-hockey match up between the US and Canada had gone all the way to OT, just to end because of a wayward shot vaguely toward the net. Those things happen.

Monday morning I woke up to the persistent sound of rain. I was still in a horrible mood. The prospect of a wet, rainy walk and a long day in the run down, ice-cold UHCOP building was looming over me. Meanwhile, my warm bed and warm husband were enticing me to stay put. I listened to the rain dripping into the metal bowl I had under door. Every once in a while I would glance at the clock.

Time was moving so quickly. If I wanted a shower I had to move. I pushed the blankets aside and tucked them around my still sleeping husband. He didn't even stir.

Throughout the day I was tired and unmotivated. I was anxious about the literature evaluation exam I had the next day. I didn't want to stay for Law, but since it was a guest speaker I stayed.

As I was driving home, I got a call from my mom. I could tell right away that something was wrong. I could hear it in her voice and it was almost as if my bad mood was hovering all around me. "Are you in class?"

"No, I'm on my way home right now."

My cousin, Laurel, had died earlier that day in a car wreck.

At first, I was in too much shock at first to comprehend what she was telling me. I was in shock at how my mind seemed to be reeling back. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it. I could hear it thudding deep inside. I don't know what was said afterward or what I said. My mom didn't know any details, just that her child was okay and not involved. I wanted to know how, where, why... all of those things.

So quickly. That was all I could think. It happened so quickly. She was younger than I was. She had a child. I hadn't seen her in years, and now I wouldn't see her again. It was too much to process.

When I got back to my apartment I got on-line and immediately started searching. I know now because it was as if I didn't believe it.

It reminded me so much of the day in high school that I came to school, and on my way in I heard that a classmate of mine had died from one of my friends. I had no reason to distrust my friend, but at the same time the thought of someone my age dying so suddenly seemed so wrong.

I didn't know him personally, but he was friends with friends who were friends with my friends. Distantly. But he sat near us in the mornings in the cafeteria before they let the students back into the halls to go to their lockers. He was always there early. He was an interesting person who made an impression on people around him. After all, I had never really spoken to him and I knew him. I expected to see him there like always.

But that day I came around one of the large brick columns of Coppell High School and went inside the newer half of the cafeteria to where we all sat. My eyes were on our tables.

He wasn't there. He wasn't there like he had been nearly every school day before. All of a sudden it became so real. It was true. He was gone. He had collapsed playing basketball with his brother. He had a heart defect.

Just like that day I frantically searched on-line for any evidence of the truth, or proof that it wasn't true. I knew it was in northern Louisiana, the Bossier-Shreveport area. I tried all kinds of different search terms and means to find it.

I was about to give up, but on one site I finally scrolled down the local news and found one headline.

Woman killed in north Bossier Parish wreck.

Even though they had not yet identified the victim, I knew it was her and knew it was true. Again, the reality just came rushing over me.

Later on that evening, the story was updated with her name confirming what I already knew.

I just got off the phone with the florist. I won't be able to go to the funeral because of pharmacy school. I was hoping I would be able to make it. Hoping it was on Friday or Saturday because I didn't have site this week. But no. The service will be on Thursday.

The florist asked me questions I hadn't even considered. For the family? For the service? I don't know. What do you want the card to say? I don't know, I hadn't thought of it yet. I've never done this before.

I just wanted to do something, anything. I wanted to help show how much I will miss her, even though I hadn't seen her in a while. I remember going over to her house and hanging out with her and my then Aunt Misti. I am torn up inside thinking about how Misti is feeling. I am sick thinking about how my cousin Kanon, Laurel's younger sister, is doing.

It is such a thin line we are on. We are such fragile beings. We live life so dangerously. Ben and I had just spent the weekend testing out his new car, and now it seems so silly and stupid to have done some of the things we did.

I know my friends who have died are in a better place now, but the suddenness in which they have left leaves such a raw and uncertain place in my heart.

I just can't stop thinking about how I woke up and listened to the rain. The same line of rainstorms that made the roads wet in northern Louisiana. Just a couple hours after I slid out of bed, her car slid off the road.

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea,
But sad mortality o’ersways their power,
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,
Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
O! how shall summer’s honey breath hold out,
Against the wrackful siege of battering days,
When rocks impregnable are not so stout,
Nor gates of steel so strong but Time decays?
O fearful meditation! where, alack,
Shall Time’s best jewel from Time’s chest lie hid?
Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back?
Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid?
O! none, unless this miracle have might,
That in black ink my love may still shine bright.
--Shakespeare, Sonnet 65

Breaking Point (with pharmacy school)

I think I am at my breaking point with pharmacy school. University of Houston College of Pharmacy, for all of you prospective pharmacy students. Their expectations have just become completely unreasonable to me.

There is this concept, completely foreign to the administrators, of "give and take". If you have a curriculum that has been known to be intense in past years, what makes you think that it's okay to just keep heaping on the responsibilities and time commitments without working with us to trim the load in other areas? We are only human. We can only take so much.

And by the way-- NEWS FLASH, we have other commitments outside of school. If we were on an isolated island with room, board, and maid service provided then MAYBE we could handle the increasingly unrealistic expectations. Again, NEWS FLASH: I have an apartment I have to clean, meals I need to cook, a husband, laundry. Laundry that has been piling up, a living room that is increasingly cluttered, my waistline is expanding because of increased eating out.

What the hell do these people in charge think we are doing? Sitting around twittling our thumbs, waiting for our next assignment? Oh, I know what they think-- they think we are robots. They think we get home from school and plug ourselves into some machine, go into stand-by, and recharge. Meanwhile in stand-by, we download all the knowledge they just gave us and read the book simultaneously. That way, we can regurgitate it effortlessly and word-for-word on their next exam, which is not only multiple choice, but short answer and fill-in-the-blank.

We are overwhelmed, behind on everything, and constantly stressed out. It is IMPOSSIBLE to be caught up with reading and notes with this schedule, and have any semblance of a life.

I hear what some of the faculty are thinking: It was hard when we went through it, we didn't have any multiple choice exams. Yeah, but you also didn't have as many requirements, either. If all we had was therapeutics and maybe one other class, you bet your ass we could sit down and memorize algorithms and guidelines all damn day.

But we don't just have two classes. We have five. Our last semester of pharmacy school, and we are in class literally every day from 8a-4p. WHEN ARE WE SUPPOSED TO STUDY? WHEN ARE WE SUPPOSED TO DECOMPRESS?

HOW IS THIS REALISTIC?

It's not. It's ridiculous.

And if I survive this semester, and if I somehow manage to get my PharmD, this school will not see a SINGLE CENT of my money. Not only that, but I absolutely will NOT recommend it to prospective students either. There is a reason I have NEVER volunteered to work at the interviews as an ambassador. I can't tell these people with a straight face, that this is the place they want to spend the next four years. Not when it has made me so miserable.

Do we have some great professors? Absolutely. But unfortunately they cannot make up for the absolute disregard in which we are treated. NOTHING is collaborative, it is all a servant-master interplay. Students are the servants, told what to do, and the administration (and some professors) are the dictators.

They have their lip-service Dean's Luncheon bullshit, where issues are raised and practically nothing is ever done. We can negotiate our exam dates. Why thank you mas'sa! But if you had decent coordination between the classes, we would HAVE TO NEGOTIATE exam dates because you would have all gotten together and worked it out yourselves.

Don't kid yourselves, U of H. I can't wait to get the heck out of there. I am a pretty reasonable, hard-working person, but you have pushed me to my absolute limits. I'm done. It's over between us. This is strictly business. And when I leave, that's the last you'll hear of me. Good riddance.

I will be contributing to my esteemed undergraduate school University of Texas at Arlington, where I didn't even get a degree but I was treated with more respect and felt more a part of the community than I EVER have here.

What a joke.

And has anyone even sat down with us and said, "You know what, I know it's difficult to have this new IPPE requirement that will be taking 13 hours out of your week that you would usually have to study. But we are going to work together to make it through this."

Absolutely not. And that is unforgivable.